


still falls the rain (a dream that could have been)

by dastardlyenables



Series: they will sing forever [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Don't copy to another site, Gen, M/M, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 07:50:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18494578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dastardlyenables/pseuds/dastardlyenables
Summary: A quiet night in a small port town.Rain pours outside, as it has since early in the morning; it is now late afternoon, and the storm clouds show know indication of leaving.  Urahara stares out his back window, through the gloom, to stare at the rough, grey waves of the sea.(Aizen was sentenced to Muken for 20000 years.  But, 20000 years is not eternity.)





	still falls the rain (a dream that could have been)

Urahara is currently hiding in plain sight, a small little human home, in a sleepy, quiet, port-side neighborhood nowhere near Karakura Town. It's the easiest option, for now; Aizen is focused on grinding Soul Society into dust, and Urahara has long since given up on trying to maintain it.  Better to keep some rebels alive to fight another day, than to expend energy on a pointless fight.

Rain pours outside, as it has since early in the morning; it is now late afternoon, and the storm clouds show no indication of leaving.  Urahara stares out his back window, through the gloom, to stare at the rough, grey waves of the sea.  Along the coast are the immediate bright lights of the docks, and farther out to see are the small, flashing lights for all the ships out to sea.  Great schooners to ocean-liners to small little fishing boats.  It's mesmerizing in its own way, picking out patterns among the flashes and traveling lights.

There's a sudden knock on the door, and Urahara startles from his daydreaming.  He spends a long, still moment, staring out, before getting up to answer it.

Grimmjow stands below the eave, bright hair soaked through and flat with water weight.  He's wearing a puffy rain parka in a dark burgundy with fake fur trim, which does little to keep the rain from his bleached, ripped, jeans and nearly nothing for his soggy, soaked-through, beat-up sneakers.  It's almost a little disconcerting, how well Grimmjow has learned to blend in with the environment.  But they've all been learning new skills, nowadays; they must.

Urahara gives him a long, silent look, then steps to the side to let him in.

Grimmjow steps out of the rain with a mumbled thanks, and drips sadly on the small interior doormat.  He hangs up his coat and slips out of his sneakers in the genkan before stepping up into the main flooring of the house, feet bare.  Without his parka, the water from his hair begins to drip down his neck and soak into his t-shirt.   Urahara watches as Grimmjow's face contorts at the feeling of being wet indoors; his nose scrunches up and his eyebrows furrow.  He shakes his head like a disgruntled cat to flick the water out of his hair, and it almost makes the corner of Urahara's lips tilt up into a smile.

They don't speak much.  Neither of them are much for talking, nowadays, but the silence suits them just fine.  Urahara passes him a small towel for his hair, and Grimmjow accepts it with grace as he moves into the tiny kitchen, bustling about to make them both citrus tea.  There is a chill going about the town, Urahara has heard, and even though neither of them can catch any sort of illness, one keeps up appearances.  There's also something peaceful about it, in this modest seaport town, both of them going about lives pretending like they're living creatures.

Grimmjow passes Urahara his cup of tea, and lets the damp towel hang around his neck.  He takes his own cup and blows at the surface of it before taking a sip, dipping his curled tongue in like a spoon, the very appearance of a cat lapping up water from a bowl.  Urahara takes a long sip of his own, relishes the way the hot liquid burns down his throat.

Urahara sits down on the small, beat-up loveseat on the tiny space that constitutes as a living space, and by unspoken agreement, Grimmjow settles down next to him, sprawling out over every remaining inch of space—in a manner that Urahara would call extremely uncomfortable, and Yoruichi swear to her grave as utter heaven—and resting his head in Urahara's lap.  Urahara rests his saucer on the loveseat armrest before turning again to stare out the window into the rain.  His free hand scratches idly thought Grimmjow's damp hair while the former Espada takes little lapping sips of his tea from strange angles.

They sit like this for some hours; Grimmjow shifts to set his empty teacup aside, and scoots to lean up more against Urahara's side.  Urahara tucks one of his legs up under himself, and bats his fan towards the lone lit candle sitting on the small, kitchen table.  It darkens into evening, the storm tapering off into a steady drizzle, and Grimmjow is lulled into sleep like that, small snores coming out more like a deeply, rumbling purr.  All the while, Urahara doesn't stop stroking his fingers through that soft, wild hair.

Eventually, Urahara carefully stands to turn off the few remaining lamps, and goes to lock the door tightly.  Grimmjow grumbles as when he moves, and lets out a soft, displeased whine, nearly waking.  Urahara settles him with a hush, before gently maneuvering back underneath him on the loveseat, this time with a blanket brought out from a small hall closet to settle over them both.  Grimmjow shifts around again, somewhat uneasy, before he calms at last as Urahara presses a soft kiss to his forehead.  

Urahara can't help but glance down at the Arrancar in his lap with a fond smile, and his hand goes back to slowly stroking through the now-dry strands of soft, turquoise hair, and continues to watch the silent movement of ships out past the harbor until dawn.


End file.
